Chapter 1

The previous day at work had been one that she would have just as soon as forgot. A day off, no longer was a true day off, because now she had some meetings she had to go to that were also part of her nursing career. It wasn't a mandatory thing, but it helped, especially since she was interested of late of getting more time off. Her husband was rarely home anymore, being a service representative, and on the road. She had a rather tight schedule to keep, one that she had made for herself. Karen, her friend, was supposed to be over shortly after she got home, so she barely had enough time to get home, get out of the car, strip, shower, shave, and apply her make up. In her efforts to hurry, she managed to destroy her last pair of panty hose. She didn't have enough time to go and get new, and not to wear any hose at all was a big no-no as far as the event was concerned. She thought about knee-highs briefly, then changed her mind in favor of the garter belt supported thigh high hose. She put on her high heels, as she remembered her blue dress was downstairs. Just as she was grabbing her robe, she heard the door bell ring.

It must be Karen, she thought, as she put on the robe, but left it open as she shouted,

"Come on in, Karen, the door is open!"

She rounded the corner, and came out into the front room to see Peter Wilkes standing in her front room!

"Shit!" she said, as she hurriedly closed her robe, and said,

"What are you doing here?"

She knew all too well who Wilkes was. He had recently been ejected from High School for assaulting a female teacher. She could believe that too, because she had nothing but problems with the young hoodlum since she had first known of him some eight years before when she and her husband had first moved into the neighborhood. The nineteen year old young man had been only eleven then, but he had a mouth on him that would have put some men who were in their forties to shame. He knew all of the foul cuss words, and knew how to use them. He did use those words too, rather frequently.

She knew from other "stories" in the neighborhood that Wilkes was probably an emotionally abused child. His step father, Frank Kline was a real slob. He was frequently drunk, and the police were always out and about the neighborhood because of his loud mouth, and his parties. In her mind this was still not a very good excuse to give the young man for the way he had treated her in the past few months. Even if she were to put it nicely, the teen had been insulting, and nasty. He had even went so far, in fact too far, just last week to call her a "fat assed bubble titted bitch".

It would have been easier to take too, had he been a good looking young man, but the fact of the matter was that he was downright ugly. He had a pock marked face, rounder than herself, and sloppy looking. He smoked cigarettes too, even at his young age, and his hair was always in a tangle. His eyes were beady looking, and a low forehead made him look stupid. That was one thing he wasn't. He was smart, calculating, and cunning, she knew.

"Aw Mrs. Bergman," he said, as he openly leered at her and the way she was dressed, "I jus' came in like you called."

"I said for 'Karen' to come in, your name isn't 'Karen' is it?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so either, so please leave, right now!"

He said something.

She wasn't sure if it was foul, but she suspected that it was. Still the something he said haunted her, as she shook her head, trying to clear it. She said,

"Look, I'm running late, and I'd like you to go. Get out."

"I will ... in a while."

I'd like you to go now! she thought. The words formed in her mind, but her mouth refused to say them. Good grief what was going on!!

The telephone rang, and all that Wilkes said was,

"Take care of it."

She answered the telephone, highly, and acutely aware of the fact that she was dressed in a short terry clothed robe which was middle thigh length, high heels, hose, garter belt, bra, and panties (very sheer panties at that, she thought).

It was Karen telling her she couldn't make it. She thanked Karen and hung up the telephone. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized she would never make it to the meeting. Wilkes had come into the dining room and sat down in one of the chairs, closest to the kitchen, at the round table.

"Get me an ash tray, while you tell me what that telephone conversation was about."

She moved like a robot, as her mind screamed,

Oh god! What is happening to me, why why am I doing this?!

She got an old pot pie tin from the cupboard. She put down the pot pie tin, as she watched while Wilkes slowly and deliberately lit up a cigarette.

"I-I have a girl friend. She was coming over, but now she's not. I was going to go to a meeting, but ... I see-seem to have run out of time for the meeting." She hated stammering like a school girl but right now she was fearful of how her mind was working than she was of the hot eyed, ugly, youth sitting before her.

"Lock you hands behind your neck, Mrs. Bergman," he said looking up at her.

Sara shuddered in fear because her hands did exactly that!

She didn't want to, she wanted to tell him to go to hell. Instead, she did exactly as she was ordered to do! She felt the hem line of the robe move up slightly. That was something she didn't want to do! The robe's hem moved up over her knees, and then came to a stop as she positioned her arms with her elbows pointing outwards. She started to become afraid for her own welfare now. It was just starting to dawn on her that this punk had some kind of terrible influence, so kind of mental control over her that she had never in her adult life experienced before. From just the feeling of the robe she guessed that it was about three or four inches above her knees.

"You know power is a funny thing. Until you get it you don't even know what it's really like."

"Pete I-I don't understand what is happening here!", she exclaimed very aware of the fear in her voice.

"I know, and that's the beauty in this situation. You can drop your arms now, I found out what I wanted to know."

She had limited control of her arms. She dropped them, and reached out to slap him, and found her arms stopped.

"Last week," he said playing with the hem of her robe, "I think you referred to me as the 'little prick with the monster face' to one of your friends, didn't you?"

"How-how did you find out about that Pete?"

"Answer the question," he said not loud, but in a very commanding tone.

"Yes, I did," she found herself saying, and not knowing why she told him that she had said it. God his hand was close to her leg, why can't I tell him what should be said to him?!

His hand continued to play with the outer edge of the wrapped robe. She could feel the radiated heat of his body as the back of his hand rubbed the cooler surface of her middle thigh flesh. Sara sent her hand out to stop the little ass hole punk!

Nothing happened! Nothing! She half sobbed. He appeared to smirk as she choked back her emotions, realizing that this situation could easily go from very bad to worse.

Maybe if I change the subject, get his mind off of me, she thought almost desperately.

"Why-why are you here Pete?"

"To pay you a visit. You see I came across this information."

"What sor-sort of information, Pete?" she stammered nervously.

"The kind that give me the power, and gives you the ... headaches," he said as she felt the robe tug on the sash and it opened a little more exposing more of her thigh flesh to the strange young man.

She almost sighed as she saw his hand move away to his cigarette. He picked it up took a drag on it, and then put it back in the pie tin. Then his hand came out and stroked her outer left nylon covered calf, under her knee. About three inches of her lower thighs was exposed, and he was touching her on a part of her leg that was much lower than her knee. Still he was touching her and she wasn't doing anything about it.!

"You know Mrs. Bergman I never really cared for broads with big tits. You got nice legs though, just like Miss Shelly had."

So you think I have big breasts.

Your mouth is really bad you know that Pete?

Why can't I say these things?!

"The-the school teacher?"

"Yeah, her," he said, as she felt his hand move upwards, and under her robe!

"Not bad, not bad at all," he said as she watched, and then felt him use both of his hands on either side of her left leg, moving his hands quickly up under her robe! He continued to stroke her lower and middle thigh flesh, his fingers moving around her lower and middle thigh, and moving towards the more sensitive skin of her inner thighs but still on the hose and getting very close to her exposed skin; dangerously close.

Then, suddenly, she felt his hand as he crossed over onto her naked unclad skin! This meant his fingers were higher than what she had previously imagined.

She could feel his warm hands on her tight upper thighs approaching her crotch.

And I'm standing here like some kind of cheap tramp letting an accused rapist touch me close to my pussy!

"That meeting you were gonnah go to ... were you gonnah go dressed like this?"

"No, I was going to go in a blue dress I had."

"The one with the 'U' neck line?"

"Ye-yes, Pete."

How had he known of the blue dress with the "U' neck line? Yes, how could she have forgotten? She had gone to the school to help out about ten days ago and she had worn that dress with some high heels!

She remembered she had gotten a lot of comments, some of which were very negative as far as she was concerned from some hormone filled, foul mouthed hoodlum watching her go about her business.

He withdrew his hands for a second time and again reached for the cigarette, and said,

"Why don't you close those shades?"

"I-I don't know."

"Close the shades, Mrs. Bergman.," again he said it softly but in a commanding tone.

She could feel the power of the words.

She walked like a robot, turning slowly and went over to the window and closed the shades.

Am I going crazy? She thought.

Her back was to him as he said,

"Turn around and tell me how old you think I am Mrs. Bergman."

She turned and said,

"I-I think you-your seventeen."

"Almost, actually I'm sixteen yet. You know Mrs. Bergman," he said taking another drag on his cigarette, "some of my friends and I have talked about you for some time."

"Have-have you, Pete?", she didn't need to know what the conversation was about. She could guess all too well. She was sure it wasn't very nice.

"Yeah. I know you heard me call you a 'bubble tit small assed bitch', am I right?"

"Yes-yes, Pete, you are ri-right."

"My friends and I, we never thought of you as a whore. A slut maybe, but not a whore."

She blushed and remained quiet.

She wanted to say I'm not a slut.

How dare you even bring that to my attention you little ass hole!"

Instead she swallowed nervously and looked over at the seated teenager highly aware of how scantily dressed she was."

"Come back and stand over here Mrs. Bergman., I like feeling your leg up."

She came back to stand in front of where the young man was sitting, again like some kind of programmed robot.

"Pe-Pete ... why ... why am I doing this?"

Does he know why this is happening to me?

Could this all be some kind of sick dream?

"Doing what, Mrs. Bergman? I think you're being real nice to me, don't you?"

"Ye-yes. Much too nice, and that's what I don't understand!"

"Now Mrs. Bergman, I want you to tell me you are a married fucking slut."

I will not. I'm not a slut. I'm a married woman. I'm ... oh go_god no! No!

"I'm_I'm a ... married, fu_fucking slu_slut Pete."

What the hell was happening here?

"How'd you like to take off the robe for me Mrs. Bergman, for me?"

"I wouldn't like that at all Pete."

"Take off the robe anyway, Mrs. Bergman," and again it wasn't shouted, but said softly and again she felt the power in his voice.

"No I..." but her hands were moving as she pulled the sash free, and took off the robe in front of the sixteen year old. She almost casually shrugged it off her shoulders and lay it across a dining room chair back, as she looked down at the seated teen, who seemed to hold more cards than she thought were possible in a deck.

God, god, what is happening to me?, she thought.

She wished, strongly wished, now that she had not chosen to wear the lace bra. It hadn't given her much support. She remembered she had intended on changing it in the basement with her other clothing change, and the bra was a temporary thing. It really wasn't met for anything other than sleeping in. No support, and a lot of cleavage. She knew she had a lot of boob, and a lot of cleavage, in her mind, was not a good thing. She forced back a shiver as she saw his eyes sweep over her new exposure. His eyes were almost like hands as she could feel them moving across her more revealed body, from her exposed cleavage to the tightness of the underwear leg band on her panty underwear.

He crushed out his cigarette and said,

"Did you hear what happened with Miss Shelly, over at the school Mrs. Bergman?"

"Yes."

"What were you told?"

"I was told that you raped her."

"Actually I fucked her. She agreed to it too. The reason it was called rape was because the school principal was mad at me."

"Why was he mad at you, Pete?"

If I can keep him off the subject of me I might have a chance to figure out what's going on here!, she thought, then, good god I'm standing in front of a hormone driven teenager in nothing but my underwear trying to figure out what or why, but still standing in front of him very much exposed.

"Because he knew I fucked his wife. She's about your age, you know."

"Who is about my age?"

"Helen, the principals wife. She put on quite a show for me and my friends. Her tits are smaller than yours though."

Why is he so fascinated with my boobs? He fucked her with her permission! Yeah, if the husband ( the principal) found out, yeah he'd be upset big time! God, god he's got a hard on! If I'm not careful I could get fucked here myself...

Getting fucked suddenly made her feel a little wet, down below. She almost blushed as numerous thoughts crossed her mind.

Wilkes stood up and she found that she kept her eyes on his face even though she saw the bulge in his crotch as he said,

"She wore a thirty six 'C' cup bra. Nice firm titties. What is your bra size, Mrs. Bergman?"

"I we-wear a thirty eight triple 'D' bra, Pete."